


Iron and Sugar

by LadyBookwormWithTeeth



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBookwormWithTeeth/pseuds/LadyBookwormWithTeeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold makes a drunken confession. Belle decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron and Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a reply to @thegreatrumbelleblowoff but I could never get the tone right and my characters kept doing things I didn't want them to. Seems that I finally got this first story to work (even though I have no idea what's coming next), so here it is, late, but hopefully worth the wait.
> 
> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

The lawyers at Mills & Gold unanimously agreed that the Christmas Party of 2015 had been truly epic. It was said to be so because, one, it had an open bar, a privilege that was thoroughly abused by all; and two, Regina Mills, the always impeccably dressed, unbearably proper, more often than not a ticking-bomb of a woman, challenged her partner in law, Nicholas Gold, to do tequila shots. And he said yes.

Nobody expected Mr. Gold to be out of his corner office, since the man opposed socializing in general, but became particularly recluse during the holidays. No one could remember the last time he'd joined in on a celebration. The fact that he was mingling with the commoners was deemed a late Christmas miracle indeed.

Regina presented her challenge and a ten-minute battle ensued between the two friends who, despite sharing one of the most successful law firms in Boston, had never stopped being bitter rivals. People cheered, hands traded money, and tequila was poured until Regina passed out next to the reception desk. Gold made a snide remark about being Scottish, downed another glass – people keeping count said it was his eleventh, but there was some debate about that – collected his cane and coat and tottered away from the crowded area.

It was probably a good thing that he seemed to have left, Belle thought. Nothing screamed of bad decisions like an open bar and a holiday party. If Belle managed to end the year without embarrassing herself in front of her boss by drunkenly confessing her secret crush, she'd count herself lucky. She already felt stupid enough, turning her head around, scavenging the room for Mr. Gold, entertaining the fantasy that he might approach her himself, begin polite chit-chat, perhaps flirt with her a little. When the night began, Belle caught glimpses of him, surrounded by people way above her paygrade, which made it impossible for her to come closer and start casual conversation, and after the shots were drank, he seemed to have vanished altogether.

Upon seeing her look around the room for the fifth time, Ruby said, “He's over there.”

“Who?” Belle asked, worried that she was being too obvious. Ruby might be her best friend, but she was not ready to admit to that particular indiscretion, nevermind that Ruby could give you a list of her every other indiscretion in chronological order.

“Over there,” Ruby pointed to the other side of the room. “Your future boyfriend.”

Belle's fears subsided. Ruby was pointing at the delivery boy, who was currently throwing her a smile that had won over many of the women in the office.

“Single, funny, adventurous. As a bonus, you also get a charming British accent,” Ruby said.

“Derby accent,” Belle correct. “Will's very adamant about that. British is too generic.”

 _Mr. Gold also has a British accent_ , she thought. _And it's just as charming_.

“Fastidious, too. I'd say he's your type.”

“I suppose,” Belle conceded, noncommittally, looking around one more time. Gold was nowhere to be found. It made sense that he's be one of the first to leave. After all, the party was dying out and he had ingested an absurd amount of alcohol. He probably didn't want his employees to see him when it finally got to his head. No one would forget the image of Regina Mills being dragged away by her assistant any time soon.

Will, however, was right there. And he was still smiling at her. Belle had known him for a couple of months now and she couldn't deny that he was fun to have around. Will could always make her laugh. Not like Mr. Gold, though. Will joked around, played the clown, made the entire floor fall over themselves laughing of his misadventures.

With Gold, it always felt more private when he made a joke, usually without even meaning to. It was as if they were sharing something special that only the two of them understood. She treasured those moments when Mr. Gold wasn't complaining or shouting at the interns, and let something funny slip. He always looked so shocked when she laughed at his silly jokes. It was quite endearing.

“You are equally geeky,” Ruby once told her, and Belle took that as a compliment.

Will was a couple of years younger and hadn't really figured out what he wanted from life just yet. But the fact remained that Will was there, and he was interested, while Mr. Gold had left and clearly wasn't. She shouldn't be picky. Lord knew she had settled for less in the past.

“I've heard he's going to Jefferson's for the after party,” Ruby told her, in a suggestive voice. “What do you say?”

“It’s late.”

“It’s eleven! Just come along for a couple of hours. Just until the New Year.”

“New Year is over a week away.”

“Fake New Year, then. Jefferson promised fireworks.”

Belle gave Will another look and he offered her a toast with his plastic cup. Casual, but full of expectations. She wondered if he had asked Ruby to talk to her.

She gave in, “Why not? I'll just go get my coat.”

Belle walked away. As the elevator doors were closing, she could see Ruby giving Will an OK sign, and Will closing his fist in a silent, “Yes!” He was feeling optimistic. Belle wondered if he'd try any of his signature moves on her or, after months of sharing his love conquests openly, he'd wiseup and try something new to impress her. If he did that, she might give him a shot. Will was a good person, and he wanted her. That alone was much healthier than the one relationship she had: pining for her boss, hoping he'd eventually notice her. As if Gold would ever consider dating an associate.

Belle opened the office door, still feeling that little dab of pride every time she looked inside the room. It was far from being one of the corner offices, and it wasn't a partnership yet, but it was still a step up the ladder. Not to mention, her promotion had been very well-deserved. Even Regina Mills had to admit it. Mr. Gold had been impressed enough to assign her to Jefferson's office, one of the best on the floor, and gift her a bottle of expensive champagne. That alone had made her swoon.

But right now, she wouldn't be back in the office for another three weeks, so she made sure everything was in its proper place. Curtains drawn, drawers locked, computers off. In just three days, she'd be on a flight to Sydney to visit her family, getting away from the madness of work and the Boston weather. A couple of weeks of Australian Summer was all she needed to recharge.

In her excitement, she pushed her chair under the desk a little too forcefully. The noise that ensued elicited a grunt from the other side of the room, near Jefferson's desk. Belle squinted in the shadows and caught the silhouette of a shoe.

She rolled her eyes. “Jefferson, you better sober up before you play with fireworks,” she said, coming closer, ready to find her colleague crammed between the side of his desk and the wall. Wouldn't have been the first time. He had a history of drinking too much in office parties and then showing up in strange places the next day. If he still had his pants on, Belle would count herself lucky.

However, when she turned on the lamp on his desk, it was Mr. Gold's face that frowned at the sudden light. He turned away, grumbling something unintelligible that sounded very angry at the lamp. Then, his head lolled back to Belle, his eyes opening slowly to look at her. Judging by his expression, the tequila shots had done quite the damage.

“Mr. Gold,” Belle stated, not really sure of what to say. “I thought-We all thought you'd left already.”

His eyelids dropped in a slow-motion, then went up again, a sluggish blinking that did nothing for his cognitive powers.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Pretty.”

“I’m sorry?”

He raised a finger at her. The movement looked so heavy it was like his hand weighed a ton.

“Pretty dress,” he slurred. “Looks good.”

“Oh,” Belle replied, smoothing the blue cocktail dress down. It had cost her a large portion of her newly raised paycheck, and it didn't matter that his compliment was drenched in alcohol, it still made her smile. After all, she had spent the entire night hoping he'd notice it. “Thank you. It's-it's new. Just bought it the other day. You know that store at the-”

Her boss gave her another slow blink and Belle realized her nervous rant was going over his head. Right. Drunk. Very much so. If Mr. Gold were sober, he wouldn't be wasting time complimenting her dress.

Belle looked around. “Mr. Gold, where is your cane?”

“Somewhere.”

“Right. How about we get you a cab?”

He grunted. The hand that had been pointing at her dropped. His head rolled to the side and he closed his eyes. Belle got on her knees quickly, one hand on his cheek before she had the chance to wonder if that constituted inappropriate touching in the workplace.

“No, no, Mr. Gold, wake up.”

He grunted again, but didn't open his eyes. Belle didn't want to have to slap him to make sure he stayed awake. If he fell asleep, she'd either have to leave him there until he woke up (which, judging by his state, might not happen before the 1st of January) or ask someone to help her carry him downstairs, and that was bound to result in a YouTube video.

Fortunately, the sound of her voice was enough to get him to tilt his head back and open his eyes to look at her. Red-rimmed eyes, exhausted, defeated. His hair was a mess, too. Belle wanted to brush it into place with her fingers, just to help him preserve some of his dignity. He could be such a vain man. But then she saw the lipstick smudges on his lips and cheeks and all thoughts of preserving Mr. Gold's dignity were replaced by shock.

How...

When...

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, before her feelings got the best of her and she started acting jealous when she had no right to.

“Drunk,” he answered.

“Yes. That is... rather evident. But other than that, are you feeling alright?”

“Dizzy,” he said, his words labored. “Got dizzy. But I sat down. Now just little dizzy.”

“Right. Then maybe you should stay here a while. And not sleep.”

“'kay.”

Gold rolled his shoulders against Jefferson's desk, as if trying to get comfortable. Belle took the chance to give him a look over. His shirt was untucked, his tie loosened up, and she could see the trail of pink lipstick disappearing underneath his collar. Belle wondered who he'd been kissing. Was it a mysterious girlfriend nobody knew about? Not very likely. A girlfriend wouldn't have left him by himself in this state. Probably someone who'd been just as smashed. Or someone who didn't give a damn that he was too drunk to make decisions on his own.

Maybe she should ask. Out of concern.

His sleepy eyes were still focused on her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I feel shitty,” he announced.

“That's the alcohol,” Belle said, getting back on her feet. Jefferson always had a bottle of water with him, maybe he'd left one behind. If not, she could go downstairs, get a few bottles and make sure Mr. Gold sobered up enough to give a cab driver his address. However, when she looked at Jefferson's drawers, she noticed the perfectly polished mahogany wood had been scratched in several places. When she looked back down at Mr. Gold there was a letter opener lying next to his hand. The weapon of the crime. Jefferson was going to flip. He'd bought that monstrosity of a desk for a small fortune and he adored it.

Gold had followed her with his eyes and was currently staring at her, lost in a haze.

“Uuhnn... were you looking for something, Mr. Gold?”

“What?”

“The letter opener. Where you looking for something in Jefferson's drawers?”

Mr. Gold answered, “Condoms,” in the same tone he might have used to request a client's file. It was so unexpected that Belle couldn't repress the question, “You _what_?”

“Condoms,” he repeated, as if the word made perfect sense. “Jefferson keeps condoms. Everyone knows that.”

“But why would you-” she started, but shut herself up immediately. She knew _why_ Mr. Gold needed condoms. She wasn’t stupid. “You know what, it's none of my bus-”

“Because safe sex is important!” he replied, verging on offended.

“Right,” Belle nodded, hoping that would get him to stop.

It didn't.

“I taught my son that,” he ranted on, words slurred, but proud. “Imma good dad.”

“Yes, okay,” Belle agreed, moving back to her own desk. There had to be water somewhere. She had to keep his lips occupied to stop him from talking.

“I told my son...” He raised a hand, as if ready to deliver his closing arguments in court. “...Condoms.” His hand dropped, poignant.

“That's wonderful, Mr. Gold.”

A bottle of water. Gum. Food. Silver tape. Anything!

“If I didn't follow my own advice, I'd be hypothetical.”

He stopped. Frowned.

“Hypothetical.”

“Yes.”

“Hypothesis.”

“Mr. Gold-”

“Hippopotamus?”

“I think you mean a hypocrite?”

He thought about it. A smile appeared on his face, blooming from cheek to cheek.

“Yeah... thaaaat...”

Belle stopped in the middle of the room. “It seems we're out of water.”

“You're so smart, Belle.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she said, dismissive. “I'm just going to go downstairs-”

“So smart.”

“Yes, I just have to go downstairs, but you have to promise me-”

“I'm buzzing.”

“What?”

In the stunned silence that followed, Belle heard the hard vibration of a cellphone. It was coming from him.

“Oh. Yes. Uhn, you should get that.”

He stared at her. “Get what?”

“The cellphone. Your cellphone.”

Another vague stare. She sighed and knelt down again. “I'll just take your phone out, alright?”

“Alright,” he parroted.

She pulled his jacket open just enough to reach for his breast pocket, trying to touch him as little as possible. Gold still had his eyes on her, though, following her every movement, as if she had become his lighthouse and he might get lost in the fog if she were out of sight. Belle looked away. They were standing so close and he watched her with such intent it felt like he could see inside her mind and unravel the torrent of thoughts she was currently trying to repress.

Thoughts of how she'd never stood that close to him before, and how the fabric of his suit felt as expensive as it looked, and how she'd wondered many times before about the way it'd feel underneath her fingers, or decorating her bedroom floor, and what a pity it was that the only time he'd allowed her to come this close was after drinking an absurd amount of tequila shots and, most importantly, how the trusting, almost loving way he was looking at her right now – his lighthouse, his _everything_ – made her feel proud. It felt good to be trusted. It felt even better to know he didn't trust anyone but her.

No, Mr. Gold wouldn't appreciate those thoughts. His possible, and very probable, girlfriend would appreciate them even less.

Belle expected to see her name flashing on the cellphone screen, but it only read “Bae”, which probably meant the same thing. How many people in his agenda were called by a pet name? Belle guessed not a lot. That could be the woman with the pink lipstick, the one he'd been trying to steal condoms for.

Belle answered, but allowed the other person to speak first. If the girlfriend was the jealous type, she'd just hang up and probably give Mr. Gold hell in the morning.

A male voice greeted her joyfully, “Merry Christmas, old man! Guess who let himself in? Where are you?”

Jealous boyfriend? Could be.

Carefully, Belle said, “Hello? Is this... who is this?”

Silence.

Then, the man retorted, “Who is _this_?” and Belle wasn't sure if the harshness in his voice was jealousy or just plain shock, but either way he did not sound happy.

“I'm Belle French.”

“ _Who_?”

“Belle French. I'm a lawyer with Mills & Gold.”

“Okay,” he said, cautious. “Is my dad with you?”

The son. Yes, Gold had mentioned him before, but only on rare occasions, and never by name. He believed in separating his private life from his professional one completely. He didn't even keep picture frames in his office, though Belle had caught a glimpse of a picture on his phone once, when Gold handed it over and asked her to make a call. A smiling, twenty-something man that didn't really resemble his father in much.

“What a handsome young man. Is he your son?” she asked, not thinking much of it.

Gold had snatched the phone from her hands, murmuring, “Let's focus, Miss French.”

“You're Mr. Gold's son,” she said.

Something flickered in Gold's eyes when she said that. A vague recognition.

“Yes.” The other man paused, then added, “Are you his girlfriend?”

“No. I'm just his colleague. I'm with him right now.”

“Then, can you put him on?”

Belle looked over at Mr. Gold. She wasn't even sure he'd have enough coordination to hold the phone up.

“The thing is,” she explained, “he got a bit intoxicated at the office party. I just found him.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, I think he's fine.”

“You think he can drive home?”

“I'm... not entirely sure he can move form the floor, actually.”

“Is that Bae?” Gold asked, finally catching up on the conversation.

“Yes, I'm going to ask him to-”

“ _Bae_?” he cried out, making Belle jump. He leaned forward, but Belle held him back by pressing a hand to his chest, before he could get the cellphone back.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Gold. Bae is going to come and pick you up.”

“Just how drunk is he?” Bae asked, sounding concerned for the first time.

“He had some tequila shots.” Belle glanced at Gold again. “I don't think he stopped there, though.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. Could you maybe come pick him up? Or I could just put him in a cab.”

“No, just give me twenty minutes, I'll come by. Is his office still on the seventh floor?”

“He's in my office.”

His son went quiet.

“He was trying to break into my colleague's drawers,” she explained, before Bae could jump to bad conclusions.

“Don’t tell him that!” Gold chastised her, as if she were snitching on him to his parents.

“Can you sit with him just until I get there?” the son asked. “Just so he can be safe and not... you know... embarrass himself.”

_Too late._

“Of course.”

Belle gave him the office number and floor and hung up. She thought of offering the phone back to Mr. Gold, but he still didn't seem very aware of his surroundings, and touching him again wasn't more appropriate now than five minutes ago. She decided to sit across from him, with her back to the wall, and hold on to his cellphone until Bae showed up.

“He's a nice boy,” Gold stated, as she settled infront of him, her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

“Yes?” Belle asked, trying to distract him. “How old is he?”

“Twenty two.” He smiled. “He's great. He's coming home for Christmas tomorrow.” Gold frowned. “I think he's early.”

Belle smiled back at him. “That's really nice. What are you guys going to do?”

“Cook. He likes my food. College food is shit.”

“That's true.”

“Time to go!”

The announcement was done so swiftly and so suddenly that Belle barely had time to react to it and hold on to his jacket before he had the chance to get up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy now!”

“Time to go. Late.”

“Yes, but Bae is coming and he'll take you home with him.”

“No need, I have a car.”

“You are _not_ driving.”

Her tone made him stop struggling and look at her, surprised. Drunk or not, people didn't just bark orders at Nicholas Gold. Not if they wanted to keep their jobs.

“But I have a car,” he said, logically.

“You're also drunk. Very much so.”

“But Zelena can drive.”

“What?”

“Zelena can drive.”

“Why would Zelena be driving your car?”

The question made him frown, as if Belle had been the first to mention Zelena's name. For a moment, his eyes grew in size, but then they relaxed again. He'd _almost_ cared about something, but then decided it wasn't worth it and gave up halfway through.

“I forgot her,” he said.

“You forgot Zelena?” Belle asked, trying to make sense out of things.

“She's mad.”

“Why would she be mad?”

“No condoms.”

Belle blinked at him, a memory flashing before her eyes: Zelena Mills, wrapped in a festive green dress, strutting into the office party like she was a senior partner, and not just the paralegal who'd only gotten her job because she was Regina's half-sister. Her lipstick a bright shade of pink that Ruby had deemed flashy.

“Oh,” Belle said, not really knowing how to react to that information.

“She'll ruin the car.”

“Pardon me?”

“She's got the keys. She's gonna do something. Maybe I should-”

He tried to get up again, but Belle stopped him by pushing a hand to his chest. “No, no, no, don't move.”

“Car...” he insisted, faintly, pushing against her hand without really resisting her.

“Don't worry. I'll... I'll fix it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He said, “Okay,” and leaned back. But then his eyes opened wide and alarmed when she got up from the floor. “You leaving.”

“I'm just going to call her, make sure to explain the situation.”

“Say I don't have condoms.”

“I'll say... something.”

She stepped out of the office, keeping the door open so she could keep an eye on her boss. He was still staring at her. He'd barely taken his eyes off of her since the whole thing began, come to think of it.

Belle called from her own phone. It took her three tries before Zelena finally picked up. She didn't waste time with niceties, “What do you want?”

Belle put on her most cheerful tone and said, “Hey, Zelena! How's it going?”

“ _What_ do you want?” she repeated, in her usual rude way. Technically, Belle was hierarchically above her, but Zelena still acted like she was everyone's boss. Belle often asked Mr. Gold to assign her another paralegal because Zelena never got anything done and spent most of her time “correcting” Belle's mistakes, throwing her Harvard education in her face.

“In _Harvard_ that's not what they teach you.”

Belle had to hold her tongue not to ask her how did she learn so much in only two semesters, before getting expelled.

“I won't keep you,” Belle said. “Mr. Gold just called and asked me to tell you that-”

“He what?” she cut in.

“He called me. He asked me to call _you_ and say that he won't need a ride home after all. He's already taken a cab.”

There was a pause as Zelena registered just what had been said. “But I'm in his car _right now_! I've been waiting on him _forever_!”

“He apologizes for that. Could you leave the keys in the ignition? I can collect them before I leave.”

Zelena huffed the words, “That coward!” in her most exasperated tone and hung up without making any promises.

“Solved,” Belle told him, coming into the office again.

“She mad?” he asked, sounding curious about it, but not particularly worried.

“She might slash your tires.”

Gold hummed in agreement, unfazed.

Belle concentrated on her own phone, her thumbs working the keyboard quickly to send Ruby a text: _meet you at Jefferson's, work emergency_. If her friend came after her and found Mr. Gold like this, then nothing would stop her from spreading the gossip to the entire firm. Ruby's reply was a very complacent, “Ok!” which indicated she had already found better company for the night. If Belle made it to the after-party, it would be hard to dodge Will. Not that she wanted to. Her prospects for the night were not any better now than when she first decided to give Will a chance. If anything, they'd just gotten worst because, first, she'd never make a move on Mr. Gold when he could barely stand up, and second, because Mr. Gold would never get over _this_.

Gold was a proud man and didn't let things go that easily. Belle could insist every day, for the rest of their lives, that it had been no trouble and that he had nothing to be ashamed of, it still wouldn't make a difference. She had seen him at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. To a point, she was taking care of him. Gold wouldn't forget that, and he surely wouldn't forgive her for it. He'd spend the rest of their lives ignoring her, that if he didn't ask her to leave the firm altogether.

“Drama queen,” she sighed. Gold narrowed his eyes at her, curious and confused. Belle shrugged. “It's nothing.”

It'd be hard to convince him to just forget the entire incident. Gold liked to keep people at arm's length, and Belle had gotten too close.

“What should I do with you, Mr. Gold?” she sighed.

“Anything you want,” he muttered back.

Belle's eyes shot up. She asked, “Pardon me?” expecting him to say something utterly innocent that she'd misheard, or even just stare at her, not knowing why her eyes had grew in size and she looked so shocked.

Instead, he looked down at his own hand, that crawled lazily on the floor, coming dangerously close to her thigh. When the back of his index finger dared to caress her pantyhose, just beneath the hem of her dress, he sighed, reciting the words again, “You can do anything you want with me.”

Belle was used to being hit on by drunk men – tonight alone Ruby had to help her dodge a few handsy associates that got a little too brave because of the open bar – but this was different. There was no flirting in Gold's tone. He wasn't making a suggestion or hoping that she'd pull up her skirt to make way for his hand. His tone was pleading and the soft stroking of his finger didn't go any further than that. And he was happy. That little, tentative touch seemed to make him content.

Belle intercepted his fingers with her own, holding them carefully to allow him to slip away. He didn't. She cleared her throat to make way for her voice, trying not to think of the delicate itch his touch had left on her thigh.

“Zelena won't appreciate you saying these things,” she told him. “If you're involved with her-”

“I'm not,” he replied, staring at their fingers, fascinated.

“Then, if you don't mind me asking, why were you taking her home?”

“She gave me a blow job.”

Belle stared at him.

“It tasted funny,” he mused, still playing with her fingers. “I think it was the Kahlua.”

Belle sighed, relieved. “You mean the cocktail.”

“And the whipped cream. I said I hate whipped cream, but she insisted. And I had to do it without my hands.” A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows and he looked at her again. “Do women do it without their hands?”

“I...” she started, not sure what exactly he meant by that, and deciding that not answering would be the best course of action.

Thankfully, he dropped the subject without a second thought, gazing down at their hands again. “She licked my face clean. Can you tell?”

“Maybe a little.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting.”

“Then why would you be stealing condoms for her?”

“Drunk.”

“I see.”

“Very drunk.” He sighed and let go of her and folded his hands over his lap. “Bad decisions happen when you're very drunk.”

“Yes,” Belle agreed, fighting the urge to hold his hand again. Gold was right. Alcohol was the source of the most terrible decisions. Otherwise, her boss wouldn't be slouched on the floor, begging for a chance to caress her thigh. She said, “Irish cream and tequila shots will do that to you.”

“And the Scotch.”

“They had Scotch at the bar?”

“I had.”

“How did you even find Jeffferson's desk?”

“Unstably.”

“I imagine.”

Gold didn't say anything and Belle took a moment to watch him, his whole body exhausted, his face a mask of melancholy that he turned away from her.

“You don't always drink that much,” she stated, leaving the question implied.

Gold shrugged. “Anniversary.”

“Of what?”

“My last bad decision.”

Belle frowned, confused. “I'm not sure I-”

He continued, “Though that was sober. Sober bad decision. Still regretted. And no condoms.”

“Ah,” Belle said, hoping for the first time that the alcohol would be enough to erase any memories from this night. Convincing Mr. Gold to let her back into his life after she saw him drunk off his ass was one thing, but Belle didn't think anyone could make Gold look her int the eye again if he knew he'd just confessed to not having sex in a year. Not that Belle thought there was anything wrong with that. Her year had been just as uneventful. Ever since she broke off her engagement to Gavin nine months ago she hadn't been with anyone. Mostly because the person who she wanted to be with was her boss, whom she always assumed kept a girlfriend (or even girlfriends) in the private life he was so adamant about keeping secret.

Gold continued, “It's a special one. It's wood.” He chuckled joylessly. “The _irony_!”

“Wood is five years,” Belle stated, not even realizing she was speaking out loud.

“Oh. No. Not wood, then,” he said, oblivious to the surprise in her voice. “What comes after wood?”

_Wow._

“I do not know.”

“Well, that's it. That's after-wood anniversary.”

Belle watched as his shoulders slumped even lower.

“Zelena was not that bad,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

“Yes, she was,” Belle told him.

He shot his eyebrows up quickly, as if to say, “You're right, but I don't care.”

“I dare say that any woman would be better,” she remarked, maybe a little too bitterly.

Suddenly, Gold had focused his gazed into her eyes again. For the first time, he looked sharp, almost aware of their ridiculous situation, and he said, “I don't want just _any_ woman.”

His hand dropped next to hers again, never daring to hold it, but coming as close as he could without actually touching her skin.

Belle could hear what he was implying, and her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she was too overwhelmed to speak, words running through her mind, but never connecting to form an adequate response.

Yes. She should say “yes”.

Yes, I understand what you are saying.

Yes, this is what I want, too.

Yes, I know this will be complicated, but I don't care.

Yes. I want you. Most certainly, undeniably yes.

She opened her mouth to answer.

Gold announced, “Bae's here.”

Belle turned quickly to the door, where the silhouette of a tall man was looking down at them. Though the room was dark, Belle could recognize his face from the picture she'd seen a few months ago. Judging by his neutral expression, he hadn't been standing at the door long enough to overhear their conversation.

“God, he really is smashed,” he said, eyeing his father.

Gold waved and greeted, “Hi, Bae!” with a little more enthusiasm.

The son came into the room. “Hey, dad. You drank a bit too much, didn't you?”

“I had blow jobs.”

“He means the cocktail!” Belle quickly said, shooting to her feet. Bae eyed her, trying to figure out what to make of her. “Hi, I'm Belle. We spoke on the phone.”

He shook her hand. “Neal. I'm his son.”

“He's Baelfire,” Gold whined, still sitting on the floor and making no attempts to get up. “Neal is a dull name. Why did you change it? Dull name. There is no-”

“Hey, dad, look what I found in the elevator.”

Neal help up his cane and his father's scowl broke into a child's smile. “My cane!”

“Yes, here you go.” To Belle, he asked, “Just how much did he drink?”

“Other than the blow- the Kahlua, there was Scotch and tequila shots. But we lost count of the tequila shots.”

Gold tried to get up and tottered. Neal rushed to pass an arm around him and keep him from falling down. “Easy now. I've got- what's that on your face?” he asked, noticing the lipstick for the first time. He looked at Belle again – more specifically, her mouth. Though she had no lipstick on, she still pressed her lips together for a second.

“I almost made a bad decision,” Gold whispered.

Neal said, “Is that so?” but continued to look at _her_ , demanding an explanation.

“He, uhn, one of the paralegals got frisky. She already left. But I think she did something to his car.”

“Right,” Neal said, not sure if Belle should be believed.

“And, uhn, his cellphone.” She handed it over to Neal, who pocketed it.

“Thanks. Now, we gotta go. Come dad, lets check the Caddie and then go home.”

“Okay...”

Belle held the door open for them. Neal said, “Thank you, Belle,” on their way out, sounding almost cold.

Mr. Gold waved briefly. “Have fun in Sydney, Belle.”

“I will. I'll... send you a postcard.”

“Postcards are pointless,” he told her, and then didn't say another word until the elevator doors closed, taking him and Neal away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be one more chapter, though I'm still not sure how that will go.


End file.
